


Tooth and Nail

by Sahvot



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Daedric Princes (Elder Scrolls), F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Skyrim Main Quest, Post-Thieves Guild Questline (Elder Scrolls), Retelling of Dawnguard DLC, Vampires, Werewolves, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sahvot/pseuds/Sahvot
Summary: Alduin is dead. The war is over. Peace is restored to Skyrim and coin is flowing into the Thieves Guild coffers. Everything was going according to plan. Now a new threat calls the Dragonborn out of retirement.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Serana
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, first go around with the Skyrim scene. 
> 
> I've had this idea for quite a few years but never got around to putting it into words. It's not an original concept, but I gotta get it out of my head. 
> 
> I mostly write in 3rd person limited, but wanted to try something different with this one. Please bear with me as I navigate this interesting change, and feel free to let me know of any weirdness. Sometimes it takes a different perspective.

It was a day just like any other. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing new and raucous. Brynjolf and I stood at our usual spots, him behind his market stall, I sitting upon the stone wall nearby. We staked out the market each day, watching the traffic trickle through Riften, looking for new hits or intelligence to drop on someone’s head. Of course, most people knew who we were, with Bryn being the con he was, and Bersi practically shouted from the roof of his shop that I had smashed his urn. I was the town bully after that.

Brynjolf and I were dressed in our finest attire, though his was much more modest than mine. I could have killed the man when he gave it to me. Too low-cut in the front. No sleeves. The hem was quite long, but was tailored in a way that it fell open across my legs, exposing them almost all the way to my hips. And the shoes! Bastard things, they were the most uncomfortable shoes I had yet to wear! _Gods_ , I could have killed that man, and everyone else in the Flagon that laughed when Brynjolf held it up. He knew I hated such ridiculous attire, yet he insisted I would be a…an _asset_ to distract fools while he went about picking their pockets.

But I supposed it was better than wearing our trademark attire. And so I sat there upon the wall, pretty as a bird, waiting for some buffoon to come strolling by.

“You lookin’ a little gone o’er there, lass,” Brynjolf said to me. I started from my place, my head snapping over toward him. An acute frown adorned my face almost immediately. I swear I saw a corner of that stupid mouth of his turn into a grin.

“I thought I told you,” I hissed, “ _not to_ call me that.” He shook with laughter, but still his attention was not on me. His eyes were on some braggart outside Haelga’s; he boasted a bit too loudly about his conquests. The man was clearly drunk. You could smell it from across the canal. Perhaps he’ll stumble over here, I thought, and Bryn could sell him a bottle of ‘Dwarven Hangover Cure.’

“Ah, you’re just sore about the outfit.” I raised a brow at him, my eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“A _very_ astute observation,” I drawled. I made a show of batting my eyes and looking demure when he turned his head toward me. He erupted into laughter, for I was most definitely _not_ demure. “You know, if you put Vex in this getup, she would have killed you several times over.”

“Aye, but our little Vex has someone’s eye. I know better than to step on another member’s toes.”

I huffed and looked away, toward the black, sprawling mess that was Mistveil Keep. Some butterflies were lazily fluttering around the mountain flowers lining the path around the market. “So it’s fine to step on _my_ toes, then?” I groveled. I pulled a knee to my chest, resting my arms upon it, and my chin on my arms. I did not think he would hear me, but Brynjolf always did have a good ear. Damn that man.

“I thought you liked dancin’. You’ve never cared if I stepped on your toes before.” Oh, this man. I could have killed him every time he opened his mouth. I groaned quite loudly, loud enough that Madesi dared a glance, and I covered my face with my hands. “You remember, don’t ya?” Unfortunately, I did. “When you came home after Alduin.” Oh, but how could I _possibly_ forget? “Came in lookin’ like you walked through a wildfire, and—”

I snorted, “Is there something you find attractive about singed-off eyebrows, Bryn? Should I go ask a wyrm to burn them off again?” When I glanced up at him he was watching me with a curious expression, as if he wanted to say yes but knew better. “That was a joke,” I hissed.

A smile crossed that stupid, punchable face of his. He dealt with a passerby before regarding me. He abandoned his station and sat at my feet upon the wall. “Ah, but don’t ya _really_ remember?” I narrowed my eyes at him, the urge to scream _‘I remember’_ tearing at my throat like an animal. “Everybody was celebratin’. They were all out in the streets.” He made a wide gesture with his arms. “Doors to the shops and taverns were open; nobody had a care if the person they drank with was a thief, or poor or wealthy. Everyone was happy; _you_ were happy.”

“I was _alive_.” I looked away, across the market. To anything but Brynjolf. “I went to the bowels of Oblivion, fought a god and somehow lived. I was happy that it was over, that I was alive.” I was still happy, overwhelmed, that I even held breath. Death had been a constant companion throughout the Dragon Crisis.

He sighed contentedly. I stole a glance at him. He looked so far gone, as if he had not heard a word I just said. “You remember the music?” he muttered, daring a swaying glance at me. “You could hear it all over Riften, even from the Ratway.” I blinked, keeping my eyes from him. I swallowed thickly, my gut twisting into knots. “You and I, we danced behind the temple—”

“ _Stop_ , you fool man.” I jabbed him with my foot and he started, pulling from his thoughts. Still, the stupid look on his face remained. I scowled. “You hang too tightly to something so insignificant.”

His face scrunched up in confusion. “But what about—”

I made an unbecoming sound, stopping him once more. “We do not speak of that.” Brynjolf’s jaw slacked with another reply. “Or any other time. Think of it as a...business deal,” I said glaringly. His eyes were squinted at me, brow knitted. “We do what needs to be done, and we walk away happy. Understand?”

He was silent for a while, giving me the illusion he had dropped the matter. I felt quite smug with myself, relaxed, until he said, “Just business,eh? So, is it like that with everyone else across the Holds that you’ve crawled into bed with?” He chuckled. “Must be damn good business.”

My face reddened, as red as a daedra’s heart if I had to guess. I looked at him, bewildered and slack-jawed. It took me too long to form the proper syllables. I was terribly torn between surprise and fury. “How did you…?”

“Got eyes and ears everywhere these days, no thanks to you.” His countenance became grim, the lines in his face hardened. I would have thought his jealousy adorable, if not for the fact that I was actively trying to get rid of him. “Gotta hand it to you, lass, didn’t know you were a serial lover. Didn’t expect it.”

“I hardly think that’s any of your business, Bryn,” I said grimly, my lips pressed into a hard line. Whatever good mood I had left that day was quashed under what may as well been a dragon’s carcass.

“O’course not,” he admitted. “Sorry. I just worry about you, y’know, when you’re out there on your own.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.”

I tutted, tossing my short hair. “You didn’t seem to care when I first came to Riften. ‘It will be a week before she ends up in the canal,’ you said to Delvin.” He started, jerking slightly in his place. I sneered, “Didn’t think I heard that, did you?” His silence was my answer. “I liked you better when all you cared about was how much gold I brought in. Now you’re just..soft. It’s unbecoming of a Guild Master.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He groaned, “You’ve been talkin’ to Karliah, haven’t ya?” 

“Yeah?” I barked. “Look at what happened to her and Gallus.” I instantly struck a nerve. His throat twitched with a thick swallow. Gallus had always been a touchy subject with him. All the years since his death did nothing to ease the pain. “She lost a good man, all of you did, and now Mercer’s dead over petty greed.” I grimaced. The words that next left me…they came with great difficulty, for I sincerely meant them. “The Guild can’t stand to lose you, too.”

For all the annoyance he gave me, he was still a good man. At the time, I would have been devastated should something happen to him, especially if it had to do with me.

That was pitifully short-lived.

Brynjolf half turned toward me, with something akin to _hope_ and _sorrow_ mottled in his eyes. Hope and sorrow; it was something I frequently saw on his face. Hope that I may suddenly drop the air of dominance and come running into his arms and gush over how handsome he is; sorrow that I was leaving for the ‘nth time that month, sorrow at the serpentine nature he could not conquer.

Just as Skyrim’s dragons had no rulers, I needed no master, be it man, mer or wyrm. I needed not to be tied down with petty heartstrings. That life was not for me.

He rose from his place, waving dismissively at me and harrumphing. He went back to his post. “And I’m the soft one?”

“How much longer will we be out here?” I said crossly, ignoring his gripe. I wanted to crawl back into the Ratway, away from the blistering sun, and hide until darkness before doing Nocturnal’s bidding.

“Few more hours.”

I groaned loudly once more. I’m sure half of the market had their eyes on me. I fell onto my back upon the wall. I lay there for quite some time, only rising once or twice when Brynjolf had some fool at his stand. We regarded each other dotingly during these short exchanges, only to sink back into silence once our targets stumbled off.

And then Bryn breaks the not-silence with a perplexed huff. “Get a load of these rats, Syrael.”

When I sat up he pointed towards the main gates, at two strangely dressed figures. One wore a helmet, the other did not. It was difficult to see from there, but he looked similar in build to an Orsimer. They were clad in dull-colored gambesons of a fashion I had never seen before, and both brandished a strange weapon, one I thought looked like what I could only describe as a hand-bow. They were stopped in the middle of the street with a pair of guards questioning them.

I looked briefly to Brynjolf, who was still eyeing the pair. “What do you think they’re here for?”

“Dunno,” he replied with a grimace. “But we’re gonna find out.” He nodded towards the strange pair when they began walking toward the Bee and Barb. “Go do your thing.” I was off before he could even finish the sentence, but he caught me by the arm and spun me back around. His lips messily pressed to mine, nearly missing. I was stunned for the better half of the ordeal, staring wide-eyed into a burning glare. 

When finally I came ‘round, I shoved him away. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity, the two of us with locked gazes, frozen in time against the ever-moving market. He was challenging me; I could smell it on him, I could see it in the subtle twitch of his lips. _Say something,_ I could hear him say in my head. _Say something, I dare you._

Oh, this man. How I hated him!

“Be careful, Syrael,” he crooned, his lips spreading into a wolfish grin. I sneered back at him.

All of that, this entire fiasco with the dress and the market, him telling me he knew about my various rendezvous; it had been planned. I was sure of it.

“Yeah,” I icily hissed. I abruptly turned and stalked across the market. I knew he was still watching me, while still somehow eyeing the rest of the crowd. When I was across the way, I lifted a hand to my face and pressed the heel of my palm across my lips. His taste, one of smoke and stale and mead, still lingered upon my lips, though I wiped away enough of it to quash the urge to vomit into the canal.

Relief flooded me when I stepped into the Bee and Barb. I allowed myself to slacken my stance, but I could not entirely rid myself of the urgency scorching through my person. It was always so very hard to ease the instincts that burned in my blood.

The inn was busy, but not packed. Several of the tables were filled, their patrons ranging from many of Riften’s residents to a few travelers and merchants. Many had their attention toward the second set of doors leading in and out of the place. Some were twisted awkwardly in their seats while others craned their heads. Keerava held her usual spot at the bar. She glared across the room, in the same direction as the patrons. I ventured further into the tavern. The group’s attention was fixated on one of the temple priests; Maramal, I think was his name. Talen-Jei, the bar's head waiter, was standing some distance ahead, his back to me.

“This is one of the signs,” the priest barked. “The signs that Lady Mara is displeased with your constant inebriation! Put down your flagons filled with your vile liquids, and embrace the teachings of the handmaiden of Kyne!"

I quirked a brow. It wasn’t unheard of for Maramal to go around preaching where he was not wanted, but what was this about _signs,_ I wondered. Signs of what, more accurately. Alduin was nearly a year dead. The war was basically over. What bastard had crawled out of its hole this time?

Upon further investigation, I spotted Sapphire leaning upon one of the beams not far from the rambling priest. I pressed my way past the annoyed merry-goers. Sapphire’s gaze turned toward me as I approached; her usually rigid features softened with mirth upon recognizing me, but she quickly flattened her expression when I gave her a scowl.

“You look like you could use a drink.” She tracked the priest as he stalked from the tavern. He muttered something under his breath, but no mind was given to him. “What brings you in here? You on a job or something?”

“Sort of,” I muttered, leaning against the wallspace next to her. “You see anyone funny looking walk through here?” She snorted, a corner of her lips turning. I hissed, “Other than me.”

“Take your pick,” she grumbled, motioning with her head across the tavern. I briefly followed her gaze, only to huff in exasperation.

“No, no—they were _dressed_ funny, in gambesons with this…this weird,” I was pointing to my chest as I said this, earning a strange look from her. I didn't have an idea of how to describe the garments. It was difficult to make out their details from my position in the market.

Sapphire cut me off, much to my relief. “Think I know who you’re talking about.” She discreetly pointed toward the bar. “They talked to Keerava, left some papers. Then they went upstairs.”

“Got any idea what they were doing here?”

She shook her head. “Not a damn clue. I take it that’s why you're here?”

“Brynjolf sent me.” I scowled. “Wants to know why they’re here in Riften. Probably wants to know if we can steal anything from them.”

“Good luck. Those two looked like they don’t mess around.” She waved me off and I pushed away from the wall. I wove my way through tables and patrons. I ducked beneath a barmaid’s arm, and kept walking when one of the crowd whistled and made an obscene gesture.

I reached the bar and, after a brief search, found a small stack of papers upon its far end. I snatched one from its place, skimming over but not actually reading the flyer. A large symbol, the only thing that immediately caught my eye, was crested at the top. It prompted me to stop, actually look at the thing. At first glance, the strange symbol looked to me like a very stylized shield. Below this symbol, written in a flowing but firm hand, was the single word ‘DAWNGUARD.’ It clicked; the symbol wasn’t a shield, but a sun…or perhaps it was both, I wondered. 

Keerava was eyeing me when I looked up from the flyer. I think she was glaring at me. It’s hard to tell with those argonians. I smiled in the most beseeching way I could manage, and over the clamor of the bar I said, “The people who left these…do you know why they’re here?”

“Not here to harass my customers, are you?” she hissed, her voice rough and gravely. “They’re here. Rented a room upstairs. Said they were looking for vampire hunters.”

I cocked a brow at that. I had heard of farmhands taking flaming pitchforks to vampires when they dared show their gaunt faces, but not of an _actual_ group of hunters dedicated solely to this cause. I was…intrigued and disinterested at the same time. It was no secret that vampires did indeed roam around Skyrim, and while they _did_ attack farms and villages, these instances were rare, almost unheard of. Why then, I wondered, were vampire hunters out recruiting?

“Didn’t you hear?” I started. My eyes snapped back to Keerava. She was not looking at me, but to a mug she busied herself with cleaning. “There’s been rumors that the Hall of the Vigilant has been destroyed.”

My lips parted with a silent sound of understanding. So these vampire hunters were out for revenge? That was something, at least.

But all of this seemed like a waste of time for a thief.

And yet…I couldn’t help but think back to the days of the Dragon Crisis, when I traveled about the province with Lydia and J’zargo, killing dragons, being a do-gooder instead of a thief. It was…a pleasant change of scenery.

Perhaps I can see what this is about, I thought to myself, and if there is no fun or loot to be had, I can slip into the shadows.

“Could I rent a room?” I suddenly inquired, and she looked up to me for a brief moment before setting the mug down and grabbing another.

“Got the coin?”

“Sapphire will be picking up my tab today.” Keerava’s eyes flashed up to me. I turned to where Sapphire was still posted and daintily waved at her. I even dipped one of my legs in a very informal curtsey. Sapphire’s face scrunched into an unreadable expression. The argonian gruffed but waved me off.

“Fine. Usual room, upstairs. You know where it is.”

Flyer in hand, I weaved my way back through the crowd and ascended the stairs. A bard downstairs began to pick “Tale of the Tongues” upon their lute. I hummed the first bit despite myself. Gods, I was tired of hearing it for the mention of Alduin. The great drake was a smudge on my life I wanted to forget.

Two more voices joined the ruckus as I neared the second floor. I glanced toward the voices as I made my way straight to the shabby one-bed room I rented hundreds of times before.They were seated in an alcove, with papers, the flyers I assumed, strewn before them. Although I could only steal a glance, I had no doubt it was the individuals Bryn and I saw from the market.

“'scuse me, Miss,” one of them called as I reached the rented room. I stopped, feigning being startled, and faced them. 

“Can I help you?”

One of the men at the table was Orsimer, old, judging by the scars on his mug and pale hair. The other...I couldn't quite tell, a Nord, possibly Imperial. Not that it mattered. 

“Yeah, we ordered some drinks. Been a while,” the Orc muttered. Curt. Groveling voice. Typical.

I smiled and traipsed my way over, clutching the flyer at my waist. “I just started my shift,” I meekly replied. “Bar's pretty busy down there, but I can go check on your order. I just have a question for you gents.” The two men glanced at each other. I held the flyer up. “You're recruiting for the Dawnguard, yes?”

“That's right,” the Orc answered.

“I was wondering about--”

The Orc’s companion spoke up. “Not to be rude, miss, but we don’t exactly need barmaids to join the cause.”

I internally bristled but kept my cheery demeanor. “My _husband_ just returned from the war, lots of combat experience. I’m sure you lads could make excellent use of him. He’s _dreadfully_ bored.” I slammed the flyer on the table in front of the groveling little man. He flinched. “I’d like to know where to send him off to.”

The Orc spoke, probably because his companion could not. “We’re holed up in the old fort southeast of here, in the canyon. Tell ‘im to look for Isran.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “What’s your name? I’d like to tell my husband how helpful you were.” The Orc’s companion shriveled in his chair, his eyes turning from me. I restrained the urge to smirk.

“It’s Durak, ma’am.” 

I dipped my leg in a short curtsey. “I’m gonna go check on that order. I’ll be right back. Don’t you move a muscle.” I quickly spun from them, trotting back to the stairs. I sped down them. Sapphire caught my gaze as I came to the landing and I motioned with my head for her to follow. She pushed away from the wall and made her way across the sea of patrons, following me back to the market.

“So what did you find out?” Sapphire asked. I took a moment to answer. My eyes darted across the canal. Brynjolf was no longer at his stall. I would have sighed with relief, if Sapphire was not with me. 

“They’re vampire hunters out recruiting,” I answered, quickly walking over one walkway, headed towards the cemetary at the side of the temple. Sapphire scoffed. 

“You think Bryn will want anything to do with vampires?”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But I’ve been itching to get out of Riften for a couple weeks now. I figure I can get in, grab some stuff and get out. And if not, nothing gained, nothing lost.”

“You sure you wanna fuck around with that, Syr? Those things don’t play games, and we _really_ don’t need vampirism running in the guild.” 

“I can handle it.” I looked around to make sure we were not being watched before pushing the hidden button on the front of the sarcophagus before me, and it gave way to a secret passage. I quickly descended the ladder leading into the cistern, with Sapphire close behind me. She filed off to my right at the behest of one of the newer recruits. I forget his name. 

Brynjolf and Delvin were situated across where I entered, at a desk surrounded by our, _my_ exploits over the past two years. Delvin was the first to look up in my direction, and he nudged Bryn until he, too, followed his gaze. I scowled as he strode to meet me, arms extended outward, a haughty laugh spilling from his lips. 

“Syrael,” he said, crushing me into an embrace. I shoved him a bit until he relented. “You remember that merchant you staked out a couple weeks ago?”

I vaguely recalled it. “Yeah. Why?”

“The lad was a bloody looter out of Elsweyr. The whole damn cart was loaded with treasure from Darloc Brae’s time.” It took me a moment to process his words, partially because his exuberance made him near incomprehensible and partially because I could not be bothered. “We’re gonna be swimmin’ in gold, lass!” He took me by the arms and shook me gently. 

“Glad that panned out,” I said flatly, and his demeanor softened. I hazarded a glance toward Delvin. He was already looking away. “I have info,” I said to Brynjolf. “You want it or not?”

He cleared his throat. “O’Course. What did you learn from our new friends?”

“They’re vampire hunters,” I said, and one of his brows shot up. He repeated the word _vampires,_ and I nodded. “They’re out recruiting for something called the Dawnguard. Ever heard of it?” He shook his head. “They’re holed up not far from here. Might be worth looking into.”

A sneer crossed Brynjolf’s face and he waved dismissively. “Gotta be a fairly new thing,” Brynjolf said, turning and walking back towards Delvin. I followed hotly at his heels. “Chances are they ain’t got anything we want.” He laughed. “And _vampires_? Now that would be bad for business.”

“That’s why we get in early, infiltrate, and have a supply line out,” I said as he landed heavily in the chair behind the desk. He planted an elbow on one arm and rested a cheek against his knuckles. His brow was creased at me. 

“No,” Brynjolf said plainly. I glared at him, then looked to Delvin for help, but he just shrugged at me. “I don’t want anyone getting involved directly with vampires. It’s too big of a risk.” 

“Then don’t send anyone,” I said, and a brow rose sharply. “I’ll go myself.” He straightened in his chair.

“Now hold on a second there, lass,” Brynjolf started, but I gave him a stern stare and he let the thought go. 

"You have kept me local for weeks now," I groveled. “I can do more for the guild out in the rest of Skyrim than I can holed up here teaching people the ropes and ripping the same people off every day. Both of you know that.”

“She’s got a point, Bryn,” Delvin finally said in my defense. Brynjolf shot him a glare. “One o’the most talented sets of fingers we got in our little organization, and you want to keep her here? That ain’t right.”

“We’re talking about _vampires_ ,” Brynjolf repeated. There was an edge in his tone, a harshness in his eyes that made me bristle and I had to bite down a growl. “Not some low-tier brigand or merchant lord trash.” 

“And _I’m_ not some low-tier pickpocketing trash,” I retorted. That really pissed him off, if the clench in his jaw and the white of his knuckles was any indication. “I’m a Nightingale. I serve more than just the guild. And I know how to take care of myself. I would expect a fellow ‘gale to know that.” 

I could have used the excuse that I was Dragonborn, that I was called to a higher duty. In hindsight, maybe I should have, but the Dragon Crisis was over. Alduin was dead, as were many of the hostile dragons. There was nothing left now I could offer Nirn that a city guard or mercenary company could not accomplish.

Brynjolf’s jaw was pressed into a hard line, his eyes were dark. He abruptly rose from the chair, the legs screeching against the floor, and threw his hands up. “Alright,” he groveled, pacing around. He didn't let his eyes stray towards me, instead fixated on Barenziah’s Crown and various other baubles I retrieved on his behalf. “You leave tomorrow. I expect you to send us details as soon as you learn anything.”

“Of course,” I drawled, malice in my tone. “You’ll be the first to know _anything_.” I turned and began marching back the way I came before anything else could spill from my lips. I could feel my blood burning. There was a gnawing in my bones and the rage was near to boiling over. 

So I left the den quickly and hurried across Riften to Honeyside. I leaned heavily against the door as it closed behind me and a shuddering exhale left me. My nails dug into the wood behind me and a snarl curved my lips. I let out a roar as my bones began to ache, both from the pain and to relieve the rage that burned in my chest. It seemed to work, and as I took a few steadying breaths the feeling ebbed away until my heart slowed.

I looked up when I could focus again. The house was dark, so I set about lighting it and, after pouring myself a drink to ease my nerves, began packing a rucksack for my journey to the Dawnguard fortress.

I drew the process out, pouring myself several drinks over the course of the evening. It was past dark when I was finished, and I collapsed into a chair and closed my eyes, relishing in the quiet. 

Then the front door opened.

I didn’t move, but I tracked the noise from the other room. It was quiet; the person who opened the door was skilled. Very skilled. Probably thought they didn’t make a noise.

But nothing ever escaped my hearing. 

Each step across the floor was measured and patient. Their breaths were even. Heart rate was normal. 

“Brynjolf,” I boomed before the steps crossed the threshold to the room I sat in. The footsteps stopped in their tracks, the pulse rose a degree.”What are you doing in here?”

There was a further moment of quiet before my intruder let out a haggard sigh and stepped through the threshold. I glared at him when I opened my eyes.

“I wanted to talk,” he said, defeated.

“So you break into my home,” I say flatly. 

“You’re a great woman,” he said, and I laughed. “And you didn’t deserve to be talked to like fresh meat.”

“Did Delvin send you here?” He shook his head. 

“Vex did.”

“Appreciated,” I said, pushing myself out of the chair. It is much more difficult than I thought it would be. I glare at him. “Now get out.”

He looked stunned, which wasn’t surprising. “You don’t want to talk? That’s it?”

“I talked.” I pointed towards the door. “Go, before I do something I regret.” I turned and started to walk past him, but he caught me by the arms and stopped me. I struggled in his hold, cursing at him, beating upon his chest with my fists. He was saying something, I can’t remember what it was. The rage was back again, burning in my chest. It was rising quickly, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to quash it before I could get Bryn out of my home.

There was one thing Brynjolf hated more than anything, terrified of. He was extremely emetophobic, and went to great lengths to avoid anyone who was ill or had too much to drink. It was hilarious, considering we operated out of what was effectively a massive mead business. I watched people be ill into the canal or behind the temple on a daily basis.

“I’m going to be sick,” I told him, mumbling the words. He stopped cold, holding me firm.

“What?”

“Let me go!” I shouted, coughing and retching. He released me immediately and I stumbled away. I heard his footsteps, heavy against the floor, head towards my front door. It opened and slammed shut just as I made my way to the back exit of the house. The cool night air hit me like nothing else and was nearly a relief, but it did nothing to help me. I had to get away. I stumbled down the stairs and broke into a half run, keeping away from where I knew guards were posted. 

I didn’t have much time. Heat was rising into my chest, my bones ached and my skin felt like it was aflame. 

I made it just into the woods before I collapsed. A roar tore from my throat as the change overcame me. My body contorted, my bones snapped and reformed, fur bristled from my skin and that damn getup ripped from my body. When the transformation finished, I stood and threw my head back and howled.

“Well met, hunter,” came Nocturnal’s voice in a mocking tone. It cut through the air, clear in my mind like nothing else. 

I growled. “Lord Hircine would not be pleased that you mock him.” I dug my claws into the dirt and inhaled the scent of fresh earth. 

My mistress did not reply. Just as well, really.

My lycanthropy was a well-guarded secret. No one except my closest circle knew. No one in the guild knew. I wanted to keep it that way. I would likely have been cast from the thieves guild had they known. I would have lost friends, close relationships, alliances. It was better for everyone that way.

My body was tired. It ached, and I wanted nothing more than to rest and prepare for the journey ahead. But for now I ran the wilds around Riften, hunting and running as fast as my feet could possibly carry me. 

I would find my way back, once this was done. The world would begin anew again.


	2. Chapter 2

My night was sleepless.

I ran the wilds until nearly daybreak. I had little memory of the night before. Nocturnal’s leathers enveloped my body when at last the transformation ended. I made my way back to Riften and collected the supplies I put together. I left without addressing any of my guild members. 

I decided I was too tired to walk to my destination. I took one of the mares tied up in the stables before their caretakers emerged from their den. It was my luck that the guard patrol was just between shifts. I don’t think anyone saw me. 

The morning went without much incident, though I struggled to stay awake in the saddle. I was too tired to even think, so I focused on the sounds around me. I listened for the various wildlife, counted the different bears, guessed at which birds sang in the trees above me.

I reached the mouth of the canyon around midday. There was another person, a man, sitting on horseback at its entrance. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Typical Nord. He was dressed in fairly simple attire, what a farmhand might wear. I could smell the anxiety from him even from several feet away and I crinkled my nose. I gave him a sideways look as I pressed my horse past him. Not soon after I heard him urge his mount on, and he followed behind me. He was boldening when the canyon widened slightly, and he rode up next to me.

I glanced over toward him when he whistled and he smiled awkwardly. “That’s quite the getup there,” he commented. I let out a quiet exhale. “Lot of the people I’ve seen come through here just came with the shirts on their backs.”

“Well, if you’re going to be killing vampires, you should be outfitted properly.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind if I ride up to the fortress with you.” I tilted my head enough to look at him with a quirked brow. He looked down and fiddled with the reins in his hands. He was young. Too young for this, I thought. “Truth is, I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said, stuttering.

“Never done what? Join a cause?” He shook his head. “Not even for the war?”

“No.” A hand went to the back of his neck. “I was scared of that, too.”

I hummed. I looked around the canyon. It yawned on for ages, it seemed. But the view was nice, with a variant of greenery and wildlife. The roar of a waterfall was somewhere nearby. “So why join the Dawnguard?”

He sighed. “Y’know, I kept my head down during the war. It didn’t get that bad where my Ma and Pa lived. And even when the Stormcloaks came, they were still _people._ They still cared about Skyrim. But the vampires? I’ve seen them, and I’ve heard the rumors. I figured I could either hide and be afraid of the night, or I could do some good and help my countrymen.” 

“That’s noble,” I said. Noble, maybe foolish as well. But he was the kind of person Skyrim needed more of. 

“Thanks. I’ve never fought vampires before. Don’t know if the Dawnguard will even take me. But you, I bet you’ve killed all sorts of vampires.”

I made a thoughtful sound. “Killed a lot more than vampires in my day.”

“Oh yeah? Like what kinds of things?”

“Daedra, undead. Werewolves.” A thrill coursed through me at the thought. It was never pleasant to kill another lycan. “Also killed a great many dragons.”

 _“Dragons?”_ he exclaimed. I couldn't help but laugh a little at his childlike wonder. “Boy, I’d bet they’d take you right away. I’d reckon—wait, dragons? You _killed_ dragons?”

“I did have some help,” I supplied.

He urged his horse further up until mine halted before him. I gave him an annoyed look. “You’re the Dragonborn!” he exclaimed, a wide grin on his face.

“Nope.” I wheeled my horse around his and continued on. I was starting to regret this. He trailed behind me. 

“So you killed Alduin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I accused. “How could I kill a god?”

“Did you really go to Sovngarde? What was it like?”

“The _Dragonborn_ went to Sovngarde. I just waited outside and let them do all the heavy lifting.” The fortress was in sight now as we rounded a corner. 

“Wow. Dragonborn.” I rolled my eyes. He was convinced, unfortunately. “What are you doing here, though, hunting vampires?”

A dismissive noise left me and I shrugged my shoulders. “Dragons are dead. Gotta keep doing something I guess. Vampires sound like a good something to kill.”

I spent the rest of the long ride up the path in silence, while my companion continued on. I paid little attention to what the boy was saying, but I responded every now and then when appropriate with a hum. 

I stopped my horse and dismounted just short of the final bend to the fortress’s entrance. I walked up the rest of the path, my shadow following closely behind me. A man dressed in those distinctive gambesons regarded us as we approached, waving to us. 

“New faces! Here to join the Dawnguard?”

“We are,” my companion replied, his voice a bit too giddy. It made my ears ache. 

“Excellent. Head inside and talk to Isran.”

I pressed the door open and stepped into the sprawling fortress. I looked around as I walked forward, a brow cocked. It was fairly barren. I had half a mind to turn right there.

But I had made up my mind, and this was already better than staring at Brynjolf.

Two men stood before me, one a Redguard who I assumed was Isran. The other looked older and wore attire that was similar to what the Vigilants would wear. 

"You stirred up the vampires against you, and now you come running to me?" Isran shook his head. “I told you this would happen. No one listened.”

His companion took on a beseeching look. “Isran, the hall was destroyed. Carcette, _everyone..._ they’re all dead. Isn’t that enough for you?”

A softer expression took the Redguard’s face and he grumbled. “I tried to warn him before I left. I never meant for any of this to happen. I am...sorry, you know.” The Vigilant harrumphed and turned away, walking a short distance with a hand to the back of his neck. Isran’s eyes landed on me. “So who’s this? You here to join the Dawnguard?”

I nodded and continued forward, extending a hand toward him. He took it and shook vigorously. He had a firm grip; not something I experienced often. He seemed to be surprised, too, because one brow shot up for a second. “Syrael. You must be Isran.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m an operative out of Riften.” His face feigned the slightest twinge of concern. He knew _exactly_ where this was going. I could tell. My heart raced. “My associates heard you were looking into the vampire issue.”

He crossed his arms. “Right. So you want to kill vampires? Good.” He paused for a moment, eyeing me critically. “And why should I let you and your...associates in to the Dawnguard?”

“I'm sure you're aware of how crafty vampires are. They're illusionists, seductors; it makes them dangerous.” I started. He tilted his head and crossed his arms. At least he was listening. That was a good start. “While you have people taking the fight to the vampires, myself and my guild can provide you information or infiltration.” I was just spouting out the mouth, of course. I had no intention to directly involve anyone else in this business. I would be enough, if I decided to stay. I just wanted to sound at least halfway convincing. 

The Redguard hummed. “Interesting. Spys, then? Intelligence would definitely be useful.” I smiled, confident with myself. “I assume this isn’t without cost? Am I going to wake up one morning and find the keep barren?” He paused and looked around. "Well, more barren, I suppose."

He was suspicious. Good. I shook my head. “The vampires are a threat to us and our...business, as much as they are to the rest of Tamriel. We see it as a mutual arrangement.”

Isran made a low sound and crossed his arms. His eyes were narrowed at me, but I remained steadfast. “I’d be unwise to turn away help. Still, nothing good ever flows out of Riften these days. Why should I trust you?” 

The Vigilant turned back around. “Isran.” I followed Isran’s gaze to the man.

“What is it, Tolan?”

“I never told you...the reason the Vigilants were investigating Dimhollow was because we caught wind of vampire activity there.”

“Yeah, I figured that. What’s the point?”

“There were swarms of them, but they weren’t making a den. The vampires were supposedly looking for some ancient vampiric artifact. We wanted to get to it before they did, destroy it.” Tolan stopped. His face twisted and his eyes started to glass. “The vampires collapsed on the Hall. We never managed to find it.”

“This is the type of thing my guild could provide assistance with,” I said to Isran. He looked at me with an unconvinced expression.

“So say I take your help,” he started, crossing his arms. “Who all do I get?”

“For now, you get me.” His eyes narrowed. “I assure you, my skills will prove useful. I can get in, get whatever you’re looking for, that relic for instance, and get out. You don’t have to send your men and women to die for this. And if _I_ die, well,” I gave a shrug of my shoulders. “You have one less petty thief in the world.”

The boy who followed me up the canyon made an unbecoming noise, rushing up to where the three of us stood. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. You’re a thief?”

I looked down at him, brow raised. “Is that a problem?” I was beginning to regret saying anything to him. I regretted allowing him to follow me through the canyon. 

He looked like he was torn between being crushed and furious. It was pitifully hilarious, given his babied face. “I thought you were the Dragonborn,” he exclaimed. “You didn’t say you were a thief!”

I sneered at him. “I told you I wasn’t the Dragonborn,” I hissed. 

“Dragonborn? Nonsense.” Isran piped in. I sighed and squeezed a hand over my eyes. “The Dragonborn hasn’t been seen in more than a year. Did you steal that title, too?”

“I came here to offer you help. You want it or not?” I replied crossly.

“Isran,” the Vigilant implored again. The attention drew away from me, much to my relief. Tolan approached Isran. He had a dire look in his eyes. I could feel the emotion that rolled off him. He was an older man, but it was evident whatever he had seen in the recent days or weeks had harrowed him considerably. “The longer we let this go, the worse it's going to get. While we sit here squabbling over recruits, the vampires gather, and more people die.”

Isran gruffed and cursed under his breath. He turned and walked a short distance away from the gathering. He looked up and around the fort, a hand running over his bald head. A harsh exhale echoed across the wall. “Fine,” he relented. “Tolan, are you certain the artifact is in that cave?”

The Vigilant nodded. “Yes. They would not have swarmed there if there was not something of great significance to them. I would bet all my worth on it.”

“That’s good enough for me. Syrael, was it?” He turned back to address me fully and I straightened. “Dragonborn or not, I want you to go to Dimhollow, find out what you can. Bring that artifact back if possible. I want to know why the vampires are so eager to get to it. And I find out you pilfered it to some lowlife,” he wagged a finger at me, “I’ll bring Stendarr’s wrath to Riften’s doorstep.”

I sneered, but his words weren’t unfounded. He was wise not to trust me. 

“Take anything you need before you go,” Isran said. “There isn’t much, some weapons, armor. Supplies. But you’re welcome to it.”

I nodded, but turned towards the door to leave. 

“You there, boy,” Isran barked. I turned my head enough to look back at the young Nord. He was pointing towards himself with a lost expression upon his face. “Yes, you, get over here. What’s your name?” 

“Agmaer, sir.”

“Do I look like a sir to you, boy? What do you use? What’s your weapon?”

My hand pressed against the door. There was a small pause. “Well, I mostly used my Pa’s axe on wolves.” 

My free hand went to my eyes and I stifled a laugh. I rushed through the door before I could hear anything else. 

I rode hard for the rest of the day and set up camp at nightfall. I made it into Eastmarch and stopped atop Bonestrewn Crest. With the dragon that roosted here slain, I was surprised that it wasn’t occupied by bandits or other unsavory things, but I was thankful nonetheless. I just hoped the nearby giants didn’t suddenly decide to investigate the crest. 

I looked up from the hare I was cooking to the skies. The moons were waning. I judged that I could probably make it to Dimhollow before I transformed again, if all went well.

My jaw clenched thinking about the previous day’s events. I poked at the fire with a stick. It wasn’t often I transformed outside a full moon or otherwise unwillingly. 

Brynjolf always did bring out the worst in me. That man made me weak.

I rarely ever had any memory of my unwilling transformations. It had been like that since I contracted the disease. Honestly, it was a wonder how I wasn’t found out, how I didn’t end up naked in the middle of a town or some roadside for a passerby to see. It’s said that Nocturnal’s favor protects her servants. That her dead Nightingales play an invisible hand from the Evergloam, aiding Her current bodies. I suppose they were watching over me. 

I reached into one of the packs I prepared and dug out my map. I moved around the fire and laid it out in front of me. I planned on stopping over in Windhelm in the morning, pick up a few extra things, maybe ask around about the vampires and this artifact. Maybe pen a letter to Lydia.

A wolf howled. My blood sang, but I bit my tongue.

I made quick work of the hare I caught and retired to my bedroll before anything ill befell me.

I didn’t sleep well, not for lack of trying. Never did. I laid there staring at the moons and stars, tossing and turning, listening to my horse’s breaths and whatever else I could hear. 

I was lazy when the sun finally rose. The air was frigid, as it always was, and my bedroll was warm. But I finally coaxed myself out of bed with the promise of some spiced ale I had brought.The ale was a relatively new addition to the Blackbriar repertoire. It was made on my suggestion, and was meant to be a competitor to that woman in Solitude. It was the only swill I could stand to drink, and I didn’t like waiting a month for a shipment of spiced ale to make its way to Riften. 

I took some time to hunt again, prepare the kill and eat it. It was near noon when I finished and packed up my things. I mounted up and made my way off the crest and out of the geysers. I pulled my hood up as I came to the road, and I pulled my mask above my nose as I approached Kynesgrove. I didn’t feel in the mood to be recognized again.

I left my horse at the Windhelm stables, and I slipped one of the stablehands some gold to keep him quiet if anyone came inquiring about a stolen horse. I’d dealt with him a few times. He was agreeable enough, took good care of his stock, and hadn’t ratted me out yet. His sister, on the other hand, was insufferable. I avoided her when I could. 

I walked across the great bridge into Windhelm. The streets were quiet with the evening rolling about. Honestly, it had become much more quiet since Ulfric had his head smashed in. Commerce slowed a bit, as would be expected at the end of a war, which unfortunately also meant less things to pilfer. It was like the city had lost part of itself. 

But it wasn’t like there were no undesirables under Ulfric’s banner. The Dark Elves and Argonians were having an easier time since the Stormcloaks were driven out of the city. I was openly sympathetic towards the Dark Elves in my last visit here. Ulfric once called me an elf fucker. He wasn’t wrong, but he was still an ass. 

I made my way towards the Great Palace. There were a number of guards posted outside. I raised a brow. A few of them took notice of me as I approached. One of them nudged another, the one in charge of the lot I supposed, who started a bit before she looked at me. I lowered my mask as she met me halfway to the door. 

“What’s going on here?” I questioned. “Why are there so many guards?”

“Been some trouble about,” the guard replied with a shrug. My lips twisted. She wasn’t concerned, and neither were the other guards by the look of it. 

“What kind of trouble?”

“Dunno. Jarl wouldn’t say, except there were some spooks happening in the night. People seeing strange lights.” She laughed. It made my ears ache. “Hasn’t been much of anything going on around here, now that the war’s ended.” 

I hummed, low and groveling. “I see.” My attention briefly went to the other guards, who were all paying us no heed, scattered about the courtyard, leaning against the walls. One even appeared asleep. A stiff breeze rushed past me, rustling my hood nearly off my head. Luckily I managed to catch it in time. “I have business with the jarl,” I continued. “Is he receiving visitors at this hour?”

The guard made a long, questioning noise as she turned towards her fellows, then looked beyond me with a hand raised above her eyes. “Should be,” she finally answered. “Might I ask what your business is?”

“No,” I stated, already making my way past her. I heard her heart tense, skip a beat and flutter faster. She meant to argue with me, I think, but she must've known better. I made my way past the other now-curious guards and into the palace. 

The mixing smells of a full banquet immediately flooded my nose as I entered, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth from watering. Further in the grand hall, Jarl Brunwulf Free-Winter sat at the dining tables along with some of his stewards, other keepers of the palace, and who I assumed was his young wife. More guards were posted within, keeping along the walls. 

One of the palace helpers alerted the jarl to my presence. He looked up toward me before abandoning the flank he busied himself with, and wiped his hands and mouth on a dinner cloth. I lowered my hood as I approached him and ran my fingers through my hair. The jarl was a fair man. Not brutish like some Nords, especially like those under Ulfric could be. He asked just enough questions; he knew who I was, that I was Dragonborn, that I killed the World Eater. He did not know of my life in Riften, or if he did, he never let on to the knowledge. 

He had asked me once where I had acquired my armor, commenting that it was blacker than anything he had seen. Not your typical common mercenary wear. I told him I looted it in some damned ruin, off some crazed idiot who took hold there. It wasn’t terribly far from the truth. But he didn’t inquire further, thankfully.

“Dragonborn,” he addressed me, and I shook my head.

“You need not use that title,” I reminded him. “My name will suffice.”

“Syrael,” he started again, bowing his head a bit. Ever the noble Nord. He extended an arm out to his left, then walked in that direction, beckoning me to follow through a door and into a side room. I followed him and closed the door behind me.

“I was not expecting your company,” he admitted as I turned toward him. The man that I had met more than a year ago had aged considerably. A jarl, now, out of his simple-made warrior armor, and in the finest furs the hold’s hunters could bring him. They almost suited him.

“Apologies, my Jarl.” I strode around the room, looking at the various tables still filled with war relics and maps. I stopped at a relatively empty table and sat upon it. I stretched my legs, crossing my ankles, folding my arms together. 

“No need for apologies. You have done much for my people; you are always welcome here.”

I bowed my head. “Thank you, my Jarl.”

“Now,” he said. “What brings you to Windhelm?” 

“Few reasons,” I started, reaching to my side to dig through my rucksack. “Remember that pack of bandits you put a bounty out for a few weeks ago?” I said as I rummaged. His lips pursed for a moment before he nodded. “Took care of them not long after you told me.” I produced a roughspun coin purse. “Didn’t get a chance to make it back here ‘til now. I’ve been...busy.” I offered the purse to him, but he shook his head and waved at me dismissively.

“Keep it,” he said. “Consider it payment.” I gave a nod and stowed the purse back into my rucksack. “So there’s that,” Brunwulf continued. “But you showing up here usually bodes an ill omen.” I huffed a laugh.

“I received some intel,” I said. I crossed my arms. “I take it you heard about the Vigilants place?”

“I heard that it was burned down.”

“That’s right. By vampires, allegedly.” The jarl grumbled lowly, and he raised a hand to his chin. “I’m on my way over to the burn site. There’s a cave near there I need to poke around in. I wanted to stop here and see if you and your people have heard or seen anything.” 

Brunwulf turned away from me, and paced around the small room for a bit. “I was hoping it wasn’t related,” he muttered. 

“The lights?” I inquired. “Is that why the palace grounds are swarming with guards?”

He nodded. “And strange sounds, too. Like howls in the night. It was a precaution. No one is to be out after dusk, either. Gods.” He paused, looking about the room. His heart was pounding. I could smell the anxiety on him. “Do you think vampires could be at work here?” he said, looking at me again.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, and he sighed. He passed a hand along his head as he began to pace again. “I did not come here to worry you, my Jarl. Could just be children, you never know.”

“I know, I know.”

There was uncomfortable silence for a moment as he continued to wear a pattern on the floor.

“I will be staying in the inn for the night,” I supplied. “I’ll ask around, see if I can learn anything else. I’ll let you know if something happens before I leave tomorrow.”

That seemed to assuage his fears, if only a little, and he finally stopped his pacing. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “That would be good. Thank you.” 

I pushed myself from the table and let myself out, pulling my hood back over my head as I stepped out into the cold again.

I walked the short distance to the inn. It was warmer inside. The air stunk with whatever was cooking upon the hearth, with stale mead and regrettable decisions. It was unusually crowded, no doubt in part with Brunwulf’s restrictions. 

I sat at the bar, and when asked if I wanted anything requested if there was anything spiced in stock. Fortunately there was. The barman briefly left his post to fetch it from the cellar. While I waited, I glanced around at my surroundings. Next to me sat a Windhelm local, someone I’d seen around often enough in my few visits here. Old guy, was a miner if I recall. Busted his leg some years back, now spends all his time and his coin here. Some other patrons were seated at a table behind me. Nothing of them of note stood out.

A woman, someone who I would refer to as a ‘back room’ girl, came up to a cloak-and-hooded figure on the far end of the bar. She touched their arm, got their attention. Whispered a proposition to him. They obliged after a moment. She sauntered off. The barkeep emerged with my spiced drink a few minutes later, and the hooded figure abruptly stood and followed in the tavern girl’s footsteps. My eyes lingered on his back until he vanished through a doorway.

My attention went back to the barkeep. He was busying himself with pouring my drink. “What’s up with that guy?” I said, trying to make light conversation. When he looked up at me with a questioning gaze, I motioned with my head in the direction the person went. “Dark cloak, all mysterious.”

He made a dismissive noise and shrugged. “Dunno. Figure it ain’t my business to ask.” He set my drink in front of me. The smell was intoxicating, and I didn't hesitate to raise the flagon to my lips. “Don’t talk much, that’s for sure. Said he was waitin’ on a boat to come back to port, intended to sail on it.”

I hummed, partially from curiosity and from how the ale warmed my throat. “Didn’t look the sailor type to me.” He shrugged and turned his back to me. I sat there a few moments, relishing in my drink, mulling over my thoughts. “I’ve heard there’s weird shit happening in town again.” He turned back to me, and began pouring several drinks and placing them upon a tray. “What’s that about?”

“Bah, just superstition, that’s all. It’s nothing but the auroras looking a bit different than they usually are.”

“So no weird noises? No strange lights or anything like that?”

He shook his head. “Sounds like people have had too much drink, if that’s what you’ve heard.” He took the tray and walked around the bar and up the stairs to the second level. 

I spent the next ten minutes or so busying myself with my drink, and straining my ears at the fellow inn patrons. I heard little of value; something about a dinner plan, who was getting around with who, how so-and-so was getting along. 

I emptied my flagon and began to push myself up with a sigh. As I did so, I caught the unmistakable scent of blood, and it gave me pause. I was stopped midway through standing from my stool. I stayed there, sniffing the air, long enough that the man sitting next to me gave me a questioning look. I smiled at him, though I think it came out more of a grimace. I pushed myself away then, following the scent that I was certain was blood, down the hall in the direction the man and woman had gone.

It led me to the final door, just past a corner and away from the prying eyes of the bar. The smell was overpowering now. I tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge, so I unceremoniously threw myself into it until it gave away. I had hoped the clamor of the tavern would cover the sound. 

Inside, the man from the bar was against the wall opposite me. The woman was held suspended against it, her feet off the floor, her face stuck in abject horror. Her mouth was open, eyes wide. She mouthed something to me, then a groan escaped her throat, and the man abruptly snapped his head towards me. 

His features, once obscured, were pale and distinctly gaunt; no doubt a vampire. But his face was also very... _batlike_ , much more so than I had seen in other vampires. It occurred to me he didn’t have a scent, either; most vampires I could smell well before I saw them. They were weak, feeble creatures, smelling of blood and bone and rot. Such was apparently not the case with this one.

He roared at me, dropped the woman and lunged for me instead. I caught him and redirected us to the left, shoving him into the wall, knocking away a chair and table and its contents as I did so. He screeched and kicked in my grasp. I slammed him against the wall, hard enough that I heard a crack, thought I don’t know from what. His face deformed, becoming even more batlike, and he snarled and bared his fangs at me. Something bristled mightily within me at the challenge. I let just enough of the wolf to push through, contorting my features, to let him know what I was. This seemed to spur his fury and he thrashed against my grip. 

So, naturally, I did what anyone would do when presented with a vampire. I breathed fire into that gaunt face of his. 

The most ungodly of noises came from him, and he thrashed harder, enough that I finally relinquished my grip. He dropped to the floor, rolling in agony. I took the opportunity to withdraw my sword and wasted no time in planting it in his chest. He struggled against it before finally becoming still. 

The scene was left in absolute carnage. A pool of black ichor spread from the vampire, while a crimson one was quickly surrounding the woman. It was all over her. Her face, her chest. In her pale hair. She was clearly dead. Her eyes were still open. Her lips were still parted. She was half-dressed, I realized too slowly, so I quickly took the bedclothes off a misshapen bed and laid them across her. The action made me realize how shaky my hands were, and I struggled to stop it. Rage bubbled at the back of my throat like bile. My heart was racing. I took a few long breaths to steady myself.

Footsteps rushed down the hallway. I looked up from where I crouched next to her. The doorway filled with people, though a few turned away quickly upon seeing the contents of the room. There was a scream, then crying. Someone was nearly ill at the sight. The barkeep was at the front of it all, his features twisted in shock. 

“Vampire,” I said to him.

His eyes shifted back and forth between said vampire and his barmaid.

“She’s dead,” I supplied. I looked back down at the woman for a moment. “You should send someone for the jarl,” I said, and looked back at him again. “And a priest.”

The barkeep scrambled off, as did the others. I sat upon the bed as I waited and soon, the jarl arrived. The city guard came soon after, and ushered everyone out and ordered them to go home. 

The next several hours I spent stalking around the tavern while the guards looked over the scene, questioned myself and the barkeep. Two priests arrived around midnight. One stayed behind to sanctify the building, while the other transported the deceased to the Hall of the Dead. I trailed behind the short procession. 

The vampire was taken elsewhere, to Windhelm’s dungeons, if I understood correctly, while it was decided what to do with him.

“You need to burn it,” I said, leaned against one of the walls of the crypt. Brunwulf, who looked exhausted and utterly devastated, peeled his eyes from the concealed woman and looked at me with a questioning gaze. “It’s the only way to make sure he stays dead,” I explained. “And you need to do it quickly, before he rises again.”

Brunwulf nodded and looked away again. He raised a hand to his lips. Had he known her, I wondered? “What would you suggest?”

“Best to do it before dusk settles. Use fire salts. It will make the blaze even hotter.”

He nodded again. “Thank you. I’ll have my men see to it.”

Silence.

“And you should burn her, as well.” This time both Brunwulf and the priest looked up at me with an incredulous look.

“What do you mean?” he accused. “You mean to tell me she’s one of...one of those things now?”

I raised my hands. “Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.” That answer didn’t seem to satisfy them. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“What of her family?” the priest barked. “She deserves a proper burial.” 

“Would you rather wake up five months from now and find a whole brood at your doorstep?” I didn’t get an answer. “Look, you can burn her and keep her ashes here, if that’s what’s wanted. But if you leave her body alone, you run the risk of her rising and turning people.”

Brunwulf released a haggard sigh, running a hand across his eyes. “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “See to it,” he muttered, motioning toward the priest, who hesitated for a moment before bowing his head and scurrying off.

My eyes darted over Brunwulf. A well of emotions settled in him, making me uneasy. “I don’t want to scare you,” I continued once the priest was gone. “But that vampire wasn’t like ones I've seen before.”

He grumbled. “Fantastic.”

“You should get in touch with the Dawnguard.” He looked at me. “They’re just starting up again, but if you tell them what happened, tell them I was here, they might send some of their people over here to keep an eye on things and root out other vampires.” He nodded, looking down again. His hand reached for the woman, her head, stroking her hair, I think. I look down to my boots. The silence bears down upon me and I relent. “I’ll be around until morning,” I say, pushing myself away from the wall. He doesn’t regard me, just nods his head, and I make my way out of the crypt. 

I spent the rest of the night in a relatively dry corner of the streets, eyes closed. Not sleeping, just resting. When dawn broke, I made my way back to the inn, requested some parchment and a quill from a fellow there. I wrote two letters; one to Isran, and one to Lydia. I informed her of what I was doing, where I was. That I might need her help. I started to close the letter before I hesitated, opening it back up again and hastily scrawling a request that she order more spiced ale for me at the bottom.

I found the courier before he set out on his morning route, gave him the letters. I went to the stables, finding that, thankfully, my horse was still there, and began on the path again.


End file.
